Past Tense
by Riley Green
Summary: Why must the past always find ways of threatening the future?
1. Chapter 1

Martin/Sam and Sam/OC

**A/N:** Hope you all enjoy, please let me know what you think. Thanks to those who have already shown support!

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**Chapter One**

The apartment building lay dark and silent before him as he approached from the retreating cab, suitcase in one hand, bag slung over his other shoulder. He was happy to be home there was no denying it.

The excitement had begun the second he'd hit the airport in Los Angeles. It would only be six hours until he was on the ground in New York, home again after a trip that had been far too long, busy and emotionally draining for his liking.

Not much had changed, he hadn't expected it to. He had only been gone three weeks but it felt like the longest of lifetimes. He unlocked the door as quietly as he could, slipping inside the familiar shadows, allowing their warmth to penetrate his weary body.

He didn't have the energy to lug his suitcase down the hallway so it was left dejectedly sitting by the front door as he strode purposefully towards the bedroom eager to see the woman curled up in his bed.

He crept stealthily down the hallway avoiding wooden floor boards he knew from past experience had a tendency to creak waking everyone in the a five mile radius.

His plan had been carefully executed to be a complete surprise. She wasn't expecting him home until late tomorrow but the second he was done fulfilling his professional obligations he wanted to be home. He needed to be home. He couldn't stand the distance between the two of them. They'd become far too dependant to be apart for so long.

She slept soundly curled up on the far side of his bed her back to him. His bag was long forgotten, dropped into the darkness, his jacket and shoes following suit, a path leading him towards the bed, closer to her.

Burrowing under the covers, still almost fully clothed his arms automatically reached for the warmth and softness of her body, sliding without hesitation across her skin rousing her from her restless sleep.

She was momentarily startled. Who was this man in bed with her? She mentally checked, yes she was at Martin's and no she hadn't done anything stupid, that she could remember. That touch, that caress, the familiarity of the breathing behind her, against her neck was all too familiar though. They could only belong to him.

"Hey," he whispered low against her ear feeling her relax back against the hardness of his body his arms automatically tightening around her.

A feminine hand reached up gripping the back of his head, fingers combing soothingly through the hair at the nape of his neck.

A kiss against her bare shoulder and she was whispering his name, "Martin. I thought you weren't going to be home till tomorrow?" she murmured grogginess crowding her voice.

"Couldn't wait any longer," he muttered, "Needed you."

He continued to hold her tightly, his grip unrelenting, a fear that if he let go, if he couldn't feel her any longer he would wake up and this would all be a dream. A dream designed to taunt him as he awoke in his lonely hotel room, in a distant city.

"I've missed you," she reassured him turning in his arms so she could see the shadows cast across his features. He managed to look so achingly beautiful in the manliest of ways. He stole her heart every single time she laid eyes on him. Her heart jumped as his eyes sought hers, words not needing to be uttered as hearts screamed instead, telling of three long weeks of loneliness and longing on both sides of the country.

He captured her lips in a desperate kiss once, twice, three times before he pulled back to stare at her again. There was something in his eyes she noted, and a familiar tenseness in his body that told her everything was not perfect in his world.

"You ok?" she asked gently, drawing him out in a way she had perfected right off the bat.

"I'm just tired," he told her, "And unbelievably happy to see you," he tried, kissing her once again to prove himself.

She nodded biting down on her lower lip, her slender fingers reaching up to outline his features, "Uh huh," came her disbelieving reply as a path was traced across his cheek bone.

He knew she wasn't fooled. He was never good at lying to her. She knew him far too well it semmed. She'd seen everything that was written inside of him and sometimes she was far better at deciphering the tangled web of emotion he was consumed with than he could ever be able to himself.

"It's nothing," he tried again.

"It's never just nothing," she told him her eyes probing deep into his soul, dragging out his secrets while he remained powerless to stop her.

She propped herself up on one elbow and watched him turn his gaze away from her instead focusing on the ceiling that didn't have such unimaginable powers over him.

He wasn't offering anything she realized with a frustration she was well accustomed to. "We don't have to talk about it now," she whispered hearing a relieved sigh escape from somewhere inside of him, "But you will tell me right? Whatever it is that's got you so wound up?"

He turned his head back to look at her, darkness mixed with a hint of love shining prominently in her eyes, "I promise, I will tell you. I just….I'm not ready yet."

She offered him a smile. The kind that always lit up his world no matter how dark it was out. He went weak at the knees every time it made an appearance in his life. "Can I do anything?" she queried.

"How about a massage?" he bargained knowing that her hands against his skin was all he really wanted to feel right now.

"Ok, don't move," she told him pressing a finger to his lips before dashing into the bathroom opposite.

She returned moments later with a bottle of lotion that smelled uniquely of vanilla and oatmeal. It was so essentially her, he loved that bottle, found himself quite unintentionally scouring the bathroom cupboards looking for it when they had been apart for too long.

"T-shirt off," she commanded her hands already stripping him of the offending item of clothing. He rolled over sinking heavily into the mattress as she moved to straddle his hips rubbing the oil methodically into her hands.

She began gently, kneading the muscles in each of his shoulders before moving further south. This had become something of a ritual between the two of them. A release from the pressures of the job that at times it seemed constantly had them down. A communication that didn't necessarily have to involve words and yet spoke loudly of the connection between them.

Sometimes there was talking. Nothing was off limits in those moments of utter relaxation. There was work and friends, finances and current events. His favorites were the dreams they shared. He recalled a particularly vivid trip to the Caribbean she had plotted out for them one night when a case had got her down and he had been willingly to do anything to simply make her smile. She had spoken of it all, everything she had imagined, down to the smell of the ocean and the taste of the breeze as his hands had proceeded to magically relax her body.

Tonight she worked in silence, letting him choose conversation when and if he wanted it. She loosened each muscle one by one, pressing kisses against his smooth warm skin when the mood struck her. There were groans of pleasure that were emitted from him every now and again, enough to let her know, what she was doing was having some kind of beneficial effect on his mind and body.

"You're amazing," he murmured into his pillow, a muffled expression she was able to make out when she strained to hear.

"Are you going to talk to me now?" she asked again hoping this little interlude had un-lodged some sort of desire to let his secrets out.

He sighed, a heavy sigh that spoke volumes about the seriousness of the situation. "The little girl was dead," he whispered as she struggled to hear him.

Leaning closer to him as her hands continued their dance across his slick skin she spoke, "We're talking about the case right? The one in LA?"

He didn't speak, just nodded in confirmation, "We spent three weeks looking for her and she was dead the whole time."

Sam paused, her hands stilling against his skin drinking in his confession. "You know you couldn't have done anything more for her," she sighed her lips close enough to caress his skin, brushing against his shoulder blade.

"There's always more," she heard him whisper in a broken voice that filled her heart to the brim with pain. "I could have worked longer hours, asked different questions," an edge of hysteria crept into his voice.

"There's only so much any of us can do," she murmured sliding off him and perching on her knees beside his body.

"You know, I was looking at her, and I kept thinking, what if this was my daughter? If I had been on the other side would I have really felt like enough had been done to save her?" he turned on his side to look at her, unshed tears she was not used to seeing sparkling in his eyes.

"You can't think like that," Sam told him a hand reaching out to trace a delicate path across his cheek, "We do all we can, we're not God. Sometimes we win, sometimes we lose. You tried Martin; you sacrificed three weeks of your life for that little girl."

Sam watched as the unshed tears sunk back into oblivion and a half-smile appeared in his weary eyes, "When did you become so wise?" he joked pulling her down to lay beside him.

"What do you mean?" she jested, "I've always been wise!"

With their bodies pressed close together she felt rather than heard the laugh that emitted from deep inside him.

"Meanwhile," she continued, pulling back to look up at his face. "I've been going crazy all alone here!"

"Oh yeah?"

She nodded, "For some reason, being all alone isn't as fun as it used to be."

"Hmmmm," Martin sighed his eyes slipping shut, feeling a unique sense of Zen fill him knowing he was finally home again. "My fault, I'm sorry," he muttered sleep slowly seizing his mind as Sam snuggled closer and limbs entangled never to be torn apart until the sun dared shine through the window.

Sam placed a kiss against his temple, hoping that after a goodnight's sleep, and in the light of day his regrets over the case would fade away as they so often did. "Damn right it's your fault," she breathed against his ear. "I'll deal with you tomorrow, right now you need sleep."

And he did until the sun drove him to wake late the next morning.

_To be continued..._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

The following day felt too long to Samantha. It was the kind of day that seemed to drag on forever when there was no case to keep the Team occupied and they were confined to the office till darkness came along and they all went their separate ways into the night.

Except they didn't quite all go separate ways anymore. She and Martin were more than likely to be going the same way these days. It was inevitable that by the time daylight graced New York again they would be sharing a bed.

She was worried about him today. Felt herself staring at him when she was supposed to be doing something else.

He looked so defeated she decided and she wanted to do anything she could to bring back the Martin she had admittedly fallen in love with. Tonight she vowed that she would use every power she had been given to make him smile, to bring him back from that land she knew so well, a land of lost children and missing persons who were never coming back, a catalogued failure that would stay with him for an indeterminable length of time.

When Samantha glanced up from her paper-work around lunchtime she noticed Martin was no longer at his desk. Her eyes traveled the office finally settling on his familiar figure, just beyond the window. She glanced around noting the absence of the rest of the Team, already on their lunch break and she quickly stole away from her desk making a beeline for the balcony.

"What are you doing out here?" her quiet but steady voice broke Martin from his reverie.

He turned to look at her, a smile on her face, her eyes begging him to come back to her, to leave his weariness and his desperation behind the second her arms wrapped around him.

"I just needed some fresh air," he admitted as her hand reached out traveling the length of his back.

"C'mere," she whispered gently pulling him away from the railing and wrapping her arms tightly around him not caring who was nearby or who was watching them.

"Sam," he began to protest, unsure what had been switched in her for this public display of affection to be allowed in her mind.

"Shhh," she pulled back a finger gently preventing him from any further protests.

"People can see us you know," he whispered in her ear.

"I know that."

"And you're ok with that all of sudden?" he was confused among all the other emotions he was feeling.

She framed his face with both her hands letting him see the conviction in her eyes, letting it sink into his soul. "You need me," she breathed her lips almost on top of his, "That's more important."

She left him with the tenderest of kisses his lips aching for more of her as she pulled away. He smiled, could this be a victory? A breakthrough in this seemingly never-ending battle he had been fighting with her about the publicity of their relationship. "Thank you Sam," he murmured against the softness of her hair. It smelled like the sweetest of vanilla victories to him.

She kissed him once more, "We better get back to work, every one will be back soon." An unpleasant reminder that life carried on beyond each other's consuming embrace.

"Will you come over tonight?" he called out as she reached for the door.

"You can count on it," she threw him a coy smile over her shoulder.

It was late in the afternoon when her cell phone rang loud and clear jolting her from the paperwork she had immersed herself in with the hope that the sooner it was done the quicker she could be at Martin's curled up on the sofa with him.

"Spade," her answer was curt, the usual monosyllabic greeting she used multiple times every day.

"Sam?" The voice that answered her own was strangely familiar; a voice from the past, she scarcely even years later felt she had the courage or strength to deal with.

She turned away from any eavesdropping ears lowering her voice, "What do you want?" she whispered fiercely, eyes darting around her, scanning each of her colleagues still hard at work, making sure no one was near enough to hear her.

"I just want to talk to you, catch up, you know, like you do when you're family?" the voice answered, surreally calm, unfaltering.

"You're not my family," she managed to utter a rising animosity in her voice she didn't even try to hide. "Family doesn't treat each other the way you treated me."

Her sentiment seemingly ignored he continued, "I'm in New York for a while on business, will you meet me?"

"I don't think so. Just…" her voice faltered, "Just leave me alone, please," she added desperately looking for an end to this conversation.

Samantha flipped her phone shut letting out a breath she didn't even know she'd been holding. Slamming the phone heavily against her desk she rubbed her forehead vigorously. This couldn't be happening. It was like some self-induced nightmare her own mind had concocted.

Things seemed to finally be on track. Her life was good for once. She was enjoying work, she had fabulous friends and she had Martin. He was so good for her, too good she sometimes believed. Was this the universe screwing things up for Samantha Spade yet again? She was too happy, that was it, she had never been allowed that much happiness before why should she be granted it now?

It was the worst kind of karma; she just wanted to cry with frustration.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

She needed to get away for a few minutes, escape to the sanctuary of the ladies room where she would be permitted a moment of vulnerability that was so rarely allowed in her every day life.

Martin had been watching her ever since her phone had rung. She was easier than a book to read. Perhaps it was just him. He hoped it was, just he who could tell her world had been knocked of that precarious balance it had been teetering on indefinitely.

Who was on the phone he wondered? It wasn't anyone from work, they were all right here. He was certain he had heard the word 'family' being spat sourly from her mouth at one stage. Was it her mother? Sister? Was it her father she had never spoken to him about? One thing was certain; the phone call had obviously rattled something deep inside of her.

His reports abandoned he took off after her down the hallway. She had been there for him earlier, her display touching him somewhere deeply, her total disregard for their relationship's privacy all of a sudden simply because he "needed" her made him fall even further in love with her than he already was. He was in the worst kind of trouble.

"Sam," he caught her in the hallway grabbing hold of her arm before she managed to duck into the safe zone that was the ladies room. "Who was on the phone?"

She looked frazzled. He had never quite seen that look on her face. There was desperation there and fear he sensed. "Sam," he tried once again.

"Sweetheart look at me," he tore her gaze from the floor forcing her eyes level with his, his hand cupping her chin refusing to let go. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," she whispered desperately wishing he would let go of her, "Nothing is going on."

"Sam…"

"Please Martin just leave it."

"Something's wrong, I know you Sam. Talk to me."

"Well, I'm sorry to be so transparent Martin," he voice took on a tone of pure annoyance, "But please can you just drop it for now. And let me go," she shook his grip from her arm her voice growing with hysteria he was quite unaccustomed to.

He glanced at her wearily, "Fine," he released her, "When _you _need _me_ just let me know. I'll do my best to be at your beck and call."

She leaned heavily against the wall, watching him as he walked away guilt seeping into every pore of her being. She hadn't meant to be so harsh, she knew he was just offering her the same support she had given him only hours earlier.

Except unlike him she just wasn't willing to talk about what had happened, certainly not in an open hallway in the Federal building. Later she promised herself. Later tonight, if he still let her come over she would tell him the whole story, emotions permitting, and everything would just go back to normal, she hoped.

Of course, she should have known she wasn't going to be so lucky.

Within moments of being left alone in the deserted hallway her cell phone rang again. She cringed. He was never one to give up so quickly, she remembered that about him. That memory had been permitted, dozens of others put through the memory shredder years ago in fear of just what unimaginable powers they could hold over her _new _life. They would not be allowed to hold such precedence in her thoughts as they once did.

"I told you to leave me alone," she seethed in place of a greeting.

"You know me better than that Sam." He paused a beat and she held her breath. "I want to see you."

"Well, I don't want to see you so you can just forget about that idea right now."

"Why not? You've got to at least give me a reason?" he begged in a voice she had always had trouble saying no to. Not this time though, she was adamant, he would not bring her down. She was stronger now. She didn't need him or his promises of the world he never delivered.

"You left me," she whispered in a voice that she despised for conveying all the hurt she still carried around with her.

"Well, I'm here now," he tried to reason with her knowing Samantha Spade had never been easy to convince. He could weaken her though, he knew just how. He'd perfected _that_ power many years ago.

"That doesn't change the fact you walked out on me and left me all alone." She winced at the memory of a broken-hearted younger version of herself abandoned in that tiny apartment of theirs.

"Come on Sam, I'm your husband."

"You're my ex-husband," she was quick to correct him. "And my name is Samantha."

"I've always called you Sam," he protested his voice adopting that whiny teenage sound she remembered well.

"You left me," she spat out, "You don't get that privilege any longer. And I don't want to talk to you, or meet you. Please Cole don't call me again."

She hung up, certain that without the wall behind her she would have collapsed into a crumpled heap of emotion right there on the floor.

She sighed; this was turning out to be a god-awful day.

Martin was undoubtedly mad with her after her little hallway display and she was being stalked by a man who had one time, she couldn't seem to get to _stay _with her.

Her life was right on track.

_Just great._

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	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Later that night Sam knocked heavily on Martin's door hoping that she hadn't already lost him to sleep. She listened eagerly, tempted to press her ear to the door and sighed with relief when she heard the tell-tale shuffle of bare feet moving stealthily across the wooden floorboards.

"Hey," she whispered quietly as he opened the door, leaning heavily against it.

"What are you doing? I gave you a key," he was quick to remind her utter confusion playing across his face.

"I wasn't sure if I was still welcome," she admitted reluctantly glancing up to meet his weary blue eyes.

He offered her the briefest of smiles, eyes lighting up momentarily before stepping aside to allow her entry. She brushed passed him but Martin grabbed her and pulled her back towards him as he shut the door.

Her body instinctively clung to his the moment he was near her. He kissed her soundly his lips sliding over hers in a way she could only describe as breath-taking.

"What took you so long?" he groaned against her lips pulling her even closer hoping he would never have to let her go again. "I thought you were coming straight from work."

"I went home," she admitted, "I was just thinking. I'm sorry about earlier. I didn't mean to snap at you, I know you were just trying to be there for me. I appreciate it, I really do."

"You were scared?" he determined, "Of coming here earlier weren't you?"

"You left without saying goodbye; I just thought maybe you didn't want to see me tonight."

"I always want to see you," he told her pulling her into the living room and depositing her on the sofa.

"Even when I've been an absolute bitch?"

"Even then," he threw himself down next to her, her body finding ways, as it always did, to drape across his own so entirely comfortably that it felt like she had belonged with him always.

She was a missing piece of his own body. Only when she was with him was he complete.

His lips were right next to her ear and with the TV droning quietly in the background, a basketball game playing out, not nearly enough to tear his attention away from Sam. "You want to talk to me about it now?" he murmured.

They both knew what he was referring to. No further explanation of his question was required. There was a stunning silence and he wondered briefly if she had even heard him.

She shook her head. "No," came her tiny reply.

His arms held her tighter offering silent promises that he would be there for her whatever she was keeping inside, whoever it was that had evoked such a fierce reaction from her.

He realized he was promising things he could not guarantee but he knew her. Knew that was exactly what she needed, promises of protection and love, even if they remained unspoken.

"Not even if I can promise a massage," he tried to bargain with her trying to give back to her a little of what she had given to him only one night earlier that had without a doubt made a world of difference to his state of mind.

"Can we do the massage and not the talking?" she asked quietly all her energy gone from trying to hold herself together for the rest of the day, pretend she wasn't bothered when she couldn't seem to stop thinking about Cole's phone call.

"Anything you want," he told the skin behind her ear.

She moved off him, heading towards his bedroom, a trail of clothing already forming in her wake.

She was like a hurricane really, leaving a trail in her path.

_Hurricane Samantha_.

With her tempestuous behavior and stormy temper and that deeply hidden passion that he had managed to unleash. She was a hurricane alright and he loved it.

He watched her for a moment before leaping into action, following her down the hallway to find her already half-naked in his unmade bed.

Martin couldn't help but marvel at her ability to look absolutely beautiful after even the day's intense emotional turmoil. There was something even more stunning about her in _his_ bed in that state, waiting for him, to rid her of the day.

She was a vision.

The lotion was retrieved from the nightstand where it had been left the night before and the cold liquid was poured into his hands as he inhaled it's scent deeply.

It was the same scent that was now imbedded deep in every molecule of his apartment. From his shower, to his pillows to his stack of sweaters that sat in his closet. Her scent had contaminated all of it and he wouldn't trade that smell for the world.

She had become a part of him really. He wasn't giving that up without the toughest of fights. Whatever was going on with her could not be enough to tear them apart. He simply wouldn't allow it.

Martin straddled her hips keeping her body firmly secured against the mattress as his hands moved slickly across her flawless skin rubbing and smoothing, easing and caressing.

He leaned down close to her ear his body almost entirely covering hers, "You sure you don't want to talk?" he pried adopting the same attitude and force she had the previous night in the hopes of drawing her out, her secrets pulled from somewhere deep inside of her, forced to the surface and screaming to be shared with nobody but him.

"I thought we'd already covered this," Samantha moaned, a combination of frustration and elation toying with her for ultimate control.

"I'm just testing the waters," he whispered low against her ear planting a row of kisses across the sensitive skin just below.

"Well, they're cold so get out," she droned hoping he would get the hint and drop this conversation for the night. She just didn't have the resolve to face that particular reality tonight.


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